


Omega Squared

by Meowbowwow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blowjobs, M/M, Omega John, Omega Sherlock, Omegaverse, Toys, filthy smut with some fluffy feelings confessed teehee, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowbowwow/pseuds/Meowbowwow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Alphas and Omegas are nature bound to fall for each other, what happens when two omegas finally explore the true nature of their relationship? Is heat as fulfilling for both Sherlock and John when pheromones aren't involved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The unique thing about 221B is that it has seen a lot of things go wrong simultaneously. And this day was one of those days when Sherlock was high on a successful case and John, a few miles away, was sitting in a bar, high on the ever so rare social interaction that he was getting. A young alpha was looking at him and John was giving him the best of his half smiles from across the bar.

As Sherlock sped up the stairs, instinctively straightening the knocker and noticing the quiet commotion of feet on the dusty steps, he felt sweaty and warm. It was rather a cool day and the sun was sarcastically and flamboyantly away from everyone’s line of vision. He couldn’t imagine a case which would have both his brother and the entire Scotland Yard in his flat together. Out of habit, he dropped a message to John ( _Urgent. Be home ASAP – SH)_ and John, knowing exactly how urgent Sherlock’s urgencies could be, ignored the message.

But the thing with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson’s equation is that usually, when Sherlock does send a message of the sort (which is basically all the time), John does need to be rescued. People wrongly assume John Watson to be a social butterfly when he is, in fact, a politer version of Sherlock Holmes. Both of them think exactly the same things about people but John usually holds back the words and Sherlock doesn’t. Anyway, even when John did pocket the phone and put it on silent mode, the faux worry kept nagging at the back of his mind. _What if Sherlock is really in trouble this time? What if the flat is on fire? What if there are criminals holding him at gunpoint?_

His excuses sounded lame even to himself. Blaming Sherlock about taking him away from his “friends” and whispering a few urgent words to Mike Stamford who smiled knowingly at him, John took his jacket and left for Baker Street. It was only 10 minutes away from his flat and he decided to walk.

Meanwhile, Sherlock entered the flat with a condescending look on his face that said “ _You, idiots. Me, Smart. Me, speak. You, shut up and face the other way_.” However, the impatient look of Mycroft, concealed relief of Lestrade and general daftness of Anderson were all turned to ice. They sniffed the air and within seconds, the straining fronts of their trousers and the slowly seeping blankness in their mind screamed the truth at them -there was an omega in heat in their midst.

Sherlock unbuttoned his coat and hung it up, matching their look of barely hidden aggression with genuine confusion.

 

***

 

John Watson would thank his lucky stars for finally deciding to take a cab after 5 minutes, his worry taking over experience with a certain detective. When he paid the cabbie and entered the flat, this is what he saw – Sherlock was pinned to the opposite wall by Lestrade whose nose was practically touching Sherlock’s neck, the fluttering pulse raring to escape, his usually immaculate shirt was tumbling out of his trousers. Mycroft looked more dishevelled than John had ever seen him. Sally was standing in the corner looking extremely embarrassed and Anderson looked like he had to pee urgently. Initially, John’s reaction was a simpler one – Sherlock had said something or done something and was now in a scuffle with the DI but closer inspection and age old omega instincts revealed something else.

 _But Sherlock? An omega? How was that even possible?_ The man was more alpha than the best of alphas John had met. How was it that John had been sharing a flat with a fellow omega for about a year and never suspected it?  If a collection of question marks could be expressed from silence alone, John was displaying it perfectly. Suddenly, the ruckus became clearer and John looked at Sherlock, realizing that 30 seconds had passed without him doing anything.

“Greg…” John started towards them and Lestrade merely grunted his disapproval at someone having interrupted him. It was demeaning, yes, but John had learnt long ago that the best of alphas could turn into, to put it mildly, _absolute dickheads_ when they were around an omega in heat. However, Sherlock looked like he would faint soon, Lestrade had him pinned by the waist, one hand holding both his wrists above his head. He managed to find the words, trying to sound calm.  

“Greg, get away from him.”

The sheer magnitude of the situation just hit John in full force right this second. Thus far, he was relaxed, confused but relaxed. But now, he realised that there were three alphas in the room, two of them pretty strong ones and his friend, his best friend, was an omega who was definitely in heat, even if John couldn’t smell the pheromones on him. One look at Sherlock’s scared face and his useless squirming aimed at trying to get away from Lestrade made John do what he did next.

He squeezed Lestrade’s shoulder, warning him for what he was about to do, and quickly turned him around in a whirlwind of confusion and speed, spraining him in 3 different places with a single push of his thumb and a forceful nudge of his right knee. The 5 seconds during which this happened and a few minutes following the same, the two remaining alphas and 221B seemed to be struck by a silent spell broken only by Lestrade’s painful groaning, all eyes on John.

At one point, Mycroft did make an odd sort of movement, reaching for his umbrella but John simply gave him a look that said, “Mycroft. Just don’t.”

Out loud, John said, “I just want to see if Sherlock is okay.” _Remember Sherlock? He is your brother._

Anderson remained where he was, still nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet. Without waiting for anyone, John used his foot to gently push the sprawling and writhing form of the DI away from Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” John reached out to his friend, sitting down with him and meeting his eye before he touched him ever so cautiously. Sherlock grabbed him like he was drowning and John felt something protective flair inside him, something that had been hidden for a long time because there were friendships to consider. He let himself be hugged by Sherlock who was breathing raggedly against his throat, feeling the relief pour out of him in waves. John’s fingers reached out to stroke the mad curly head, running down the slim back in soothing motions.

“I’m going to take your pulse now, okay? Don’t be scared, it’s alright. Everything’s fine.” Sherlock looked up and nodded. John tilted his head slightly and placed his index and middle finger on the fluttering carotid, ignored the sudden start Sherlock gave at his cold hands. As he kept an eye on his watch, his hand instinctively reached over to the slightly bruised right wrist and he rubbed circles on them. The pulse was way over normal.

“Sherlock, you have to calm down. Look, breathe, like this.” He took a couple of deep breaths, hands sweeping Sherlock’s hair off his face. When Sherlock didn’t respond to him, John gently put his hands on his shoulder, leaning his forehead against Sherlock’s. “Please, just breathe. I’m here now, no one is going to hurt you. I promise. Just breathe. Like this. In and out.” His hand automatically slid up to wipe the sweat off Sherlock’s face and Sherlock started imitating John. After a few minutes, or was it hours, Sherlock had calmed down enough to lean forward and bury his face under John’s chin again, still breathing rhythmically, his hair tickling John’s nose.

“That’s it, this is much better now. Just concentrate on your breathing. Do you know what’s happening to you?” John’s voice was quiet, soothing, exactly the thing Sherlock needed right now to anchor himself. John’s voice, his doctor’s hands, the smell of aftershave and a hint of gunpowder on John’s unwashed jumper. He hummed in response, surprised to find that he still had a voice.  
“Good,” John said, placing a small kiss on top of his head and smiling kindly at him. “Now, we are going to get you up to your room. Do you think you can manage that?”

Sally handed Sherlock a glass of water. John had completely forgotten about her and he nodded at her as Sherlock gulped the water down and asked for another, half hugging John still. As Sherlock was still drinking and wiping his mouth, John looked for their alpha company that hadn’t made a sound in the past half an hour. Lestrade had moved from the floor to the couch with the help of Mycroft, Anderson was still standing away from everyone, his excitement having deflated considerably. They had all looked in his direction when John had mentioned moving Sherlock to his room.

“Dr Watson, forgive my intrusion in this _very_ touching performance of yours but I think you are forgetting something.” John had not forgotten anything. After all, he too was an omega and was well versed with all the archaic rules of society, but he let Mycroft drawl on. He had other things to worry, the chief amongst them being Sherlock’s feverish forehead and the fresh wave of sweat. The heat was pouring off of him in waves and John just wanted this to be over so that he could get Sherlock out of these clothes and into fresh, dry ones. And probably make him some tea too. He also knew how they might not get to that after Mycroft finishes his statement.

 “If an omega goes into heat and the said omega does not have a mate, the omega must choose someone from the available partners around him. In the case of Sherlock, the ideal choices would be me, Lestrade and… Anderson.” Mycroft finished with a small laugh in Anderson’s direction, brushing some invisible lint off his knee.

John turned around, Sherlock looked close to getting a panic attack again. This time, he reached for John’s hand himself, willing him to stay. John met his eye and nodded. Before squeezing his palm gently, he shrugged and muttered, “Of course.”

By the time they got around to actually deciding, Sherlock’s breathing had evened out but his stomach cramps had begun and Sally was offering him a cup of tea, Anderson had taken a suspiciously long loo break, and Mycroft and Lestrade hadn’t moved an inch. The moment Sherlock put the cup back in the saucer, now almost comfortable in the tiny nook he had created on John’s shoulder, Mycroft got up.

Sherlock’s fingers dug deep into John’s arm as Mycroft approached him, smiling like no shit had gone down a couple of hours ago. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet and greasy, not like him at all.

“Brother mine,” John flinched at that but Mycroft ignored him. “I have taken care of you all your life. You know me, don’t you? I would never hurt you. I haven’t even touched you since…” Sherlock, still trying to hide behind John, shuddered at that, “-since you entered the flat.” His voice hit lower registers as he finished, “I promise you I’ll be gentle. You know that, right?” John felt anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to strike the quiet confidence right off his face.

The way alphas treated omegas, like they were just some kinds of charity animals, infuriated John. He had fought to embrace his gender and fight the stereotypes all his life. In his lifetime, John had got into fight with alphas, broken jaws, arms, knees and the pinkie finger, in one case. And even after thousands of omega rights movements and hundreds of years of wrongful alpha domination, the equation hadn’t changed a bit. Alphas still believed omegas to be their property and John was sick of it. But he would not have his friend getting subjected to that.

Next came Lestrade who blabbed on about an omega needing a strong alpha, John tuned out the rest of his words. Anderson said something about being “low maintenance” and “no strings attached” at which point John had to sit down next to Sherlock with his back against the wall. If there was a way to get Sherlock out of this or even swap places with him, he would have done it.

When Sherlock spoke, after minutes of silence, his voice sounded unlike him. There wasn’t the confidence and arrogance that marked Sherlock’s voice, it sounded rough and unused. John wanted to pull him into his arms and tell him that no one is ever going to hurt him, never again, not while he was around, but all he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes, so he won’t have to watch his friend make the impossible choice.

“I choose John,” Sherlock said, loud enough for the room to hear and, as if finally realising how tired he was, leaned against a gaping John, putting his head on his shoulder. “If he’ll have me, that is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving lovely kudos and comments, the next chapter will bring some filthy smut. Yo.

Even with his eyes closed, Sherlock buttery and pliant in his arms and the darkness soft around them, John would never forget the look on Sherlock’s face. It had only happened a few hours ago but it was still hard for John to grasp. Sherlock squirmed in his sleep, his back to John’s front, and fit himself perfectly around John. After throwing an arm around the lanky git and pulling him closer, John allowed his mind to drift off to what had happened after Sherlock had softly put his head on his shoulder, making his choice.

John had almost cricked his neck when he’d heard the words and Sherlock’s face, a mixture of vulnerability and taped-back confidence, would always be remembered by him. He had pulled himself closer to John to hide from such close inspection from all quarters and John had gone to him automatically, as if this had been the plan all along, as if nothing else could ever be more natural, as if the “of course” he whispered in Sherlock’s hair didn’t make his heart hammer like mad.

The reaction from the other’s was still a bit of a blur to him, he couldn’t stop feeling giddy about Sherlock’s brilliance. How someone could manage to think of something so clever when they were in the midst of hyperventilating was a mystery to John, but if anyone could do it, it would be Sherlock. And he had. Mycroft looked like he had been punched, Lestrade’s face was hidden from view and Anderson had a look of utter confusion which quite suited him actually. Lying awake now, John remembered something about arguing with Mycroft and threatening to “shove that umbrella where the sun doesn’t shine” but it could also be his mind getting creative with him.

After that, John had helped Sherlock up and realised that the detective could, in fact, walk on his own. As soon as Sherlock had entered the bedroom, John still at the door, he had slumped down, making John laugh before he turned around to instruct everyone to get the fuck out of his flat. He thanked Sally quietly and locked the door behind them all, checking and rechecking the windows like he remembered one of his alphas in the army doing. Then he had come back in to find that Sherlock was snoring on the bed, and had quietly joined him, turning the lights off.

You know, nights can be pretty darn mean. They make you relive the most embarrassing incidents from your past and twist even the best of days into something unrecognisable so that you turn out to be the fool. With Sherlock pliant in his arms and the curly nape tickling his nose, John was quickly becoming aware about a number of facts. One, he had not managed to have a single word with Sherlock after the debacle. Two, Sherlock was in “heat” and was amazingly _not_ queasy. And three, Sherlock might have _chosen_ John because he didn’t want any of those fools and it was the only way out for him.

The third one made him feel like the wind had been kicked out of his lungs. Suddenly, John felt like the darkness was closing in on him, laughing at him for being so stupid. He had let his stupid crush overtake logic. Why would Sherlock choose him? He was married to his work, he had been clear on that point from the start.

 _We’re just friends_. John repeated the words to himself until he almost believed in them. He tried to forget the flood of happiness he had felt when he’d heard his name. He would surgically remove all those feelings from his mind. Yes… that would have been nice if Sherlock hadn’t chosen exactly that moment to rub the crack of his arse against John’s perpetually-hard-since-he-sneaked-into-the-bed erection. He was leaking, copiously. John took a deep breath. One look at Sherlock’s face revealed that he was experiencing a very enjoyable dream. Pretty enjoyable, actually, judging from the sounds he was making.

 

***

 

Sherlock carefully peeled off his clothes, willing his heart to stop thumping in his throat. John had gone to lock the doors behind those idiots. Usually, this would be the time when Sherlock analysed everything – his brother’s behaviour, Lestrade’s aggressive reaction and John. It was always about John, there had never been anyone else for him. In those last few seconds, he had experienced the crystal clarity that only comes when someone’s under pressure. At that second, when he was wilfully overwhelming himself and praying to God that biology would take the bait, some part of him, a huge part, had been extremely relieved when John had intervened in time. And although Sherlock had fought the omega clichés of being unhealthily dependent on someone else, he realised that he didn’t mind depending on John at all. He didn’t mind the needy feeling that had gnawed at his stomach, even half asleep, until John had joined him and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t feel scared at the perfect way they fit together, John’s slightly pudgy middle feeling warm against his back, or his rough hands soothing on his shoulders.

And he had slept, acutely aware of John’s smell around him. He knew it wasn’t biologically possible for him to be attracted to John’s natural pheromones but he was, in a weird way. He raced his mind back to the times when he had woken up in a state of nausea, the suppressants doing their job but taking a toll on him, and he simply had to walk into the living room and observe John with his back to him, making tea, to feel better. He would quirk an eyebrow at Sherlock’s state and when Sherlock decided to take a shower, would check the usual places for any traces of cocaine or cigarettes. And Sherlock knew all this, he loved all this. He never realised that somewhere down the line, the love for all things domestic had converged into the source of it all – John Watson.

John was gun powder and warm jumpers, he was like the first cigarette in the morning of an addict, he was more potent than any drug Sherlock had ever tried and he was more addictive than any murder mystery in the world. And he was Sherlock’s friend…and his heart rate had suddenly escalated and he was pulling away…

“You are overthinking,” Sherlock said, voice hoarse and still sleepy, hands holding on to John’s wrist around his waist.  
“You are leaking,” John muttered, the surprise evident in his voice.

Sherlock yawned loudly, he had hoped this would happen in the morning when he had had enough sleep but apparently not. John’s unpredictable and wayward reactions were one of the things Sherlock liked about him but not so much at this particular moment, no.

“John…” he started, turning around and inhaling the familiar scent to ground himself a bit. His eyes just won’t open, he was so unbearably tired, that he stopped fighting it and just found his place under the stubbled chin, his very own nook.

John was going to say something but Sherlock cut him off, sounding slightly muffled as he dared to stick his tongue out and run it over the stubbled jaw, “You were not… are not a tricky solution to a convoluted problem.” John almost froze as the tongue reached his lobe and almost experimentally, the mouth sucked it in, cataloguing reactions. He awarded Sherlock with a moan and pulled back, wanting to talk and feeling stupidly happy at the way Sherlock glowed beside him, happy with the small praise.

“Sherlock, you don’t know what you’re doing right know.”  
“I most certainly do.”

It started like that and soon, raised voices were ending it like this.  
  
“You have never been so confused.”  
“I am absolutely certain.”  
“You drive me mad!”  
“So do you!”

They leaned back, somewhere during that argument, Sherlock’s hands hand stolen up John’s shoulder and in his hair. He quietly leaned forward and kissed his chin.

“Are you sure about this?” John muttered, pulling him closer and breathing him in. Suddenly, it all felt simpler, clearer. Sherlock was in his arms, he was close enough for John to feel the heat emanating from him and John wanted to spread him out and find out every pleasure point in his body.  
“I do, now kiss me, this won’t last forever.” Sherlock felt the last vestiges of impatience gnawing in his abdomen and he rutted slowly against John’s leg. It felt filthy, he had never thought he could do this but in that second, it just didn’t matter. It was an itch he had to scratch and the more he scratched it, the quicker it grew.  
“You still have three days, there’s plenty of time.” John was going to capture his lips, but he froze, comically inches away from them.  
“What? Sherlock… what?” Sherlock made an odd face and shrugged a non-committal shrug.

“Well, no it won’t. I’m sure you have heard about this, you are a doctor, of course, you have.” He took a deep breath, not pulling away from the awkward anticipated semi-kiss position they were in even though it hurt his neck and made his stomach flip. “An omega’s biology is complicated. Most omegas, when they find themselves in unsafe situations during heat, are able to postpone it. It is triggered by an amazing amount of epinephrine and cortisol that gets released when an omega is scared for his safety. So…”

“No,” John was finally beginning to understand it. Sherlock continued, slightly apprehensive at his expression.

“So, when I realised that there were three alphas in the room who could easily overpower me, I started getting worked up, hoping that my body would take the hint and abort the heat. I was already scared a bit and only had to work forward from that. It was pretty difficult, especially after you arrived.” Sherlock finished, shrugging like John had ruined one of the most important experiences of his life.

“What, so it’s my fault now!” What John was annoyed about was – what if he hadn’t arrived in time? Sherlock could have had a panic attack, he could have been in so much danger, things could go wrong-

“You’re overthinking again,” Sherlock cut him off, but when John didn’t respond, he muttered, “I won’t do it again. Ever. I promise.”

“Good, and I suppose it happened because you forgot to take your suppressants this month, yes?” It was at this second that John took note of their kiss-limbo stance, and he glanced down at Sherlock’s lips, tracing that cupid’s bow with his eyes and watching Sherlock gulp audibly as he nodded.

As he was closing the gap between them, Sherlock whispered “Now that this is settled, give me some sugar” and John almost spluttered, colliding their lips. They laughed in each other’s mouths, taking breaks to breathe and then, with one glance from each other, starting again.

“What- where did you learn _that_ from?” John managed, between laboured breaths and streaming eyes.  
“Crappy telly. Now kiss me,” this one was sincere, John could see it. Sherlock suddenly looked excited and nervous in equal measure, the vestiges of his heat starting to make their presence known. “Please,” he added, closing his eyes.

And so John did, after ages spent dreaming and fantasising about this, he was finally doing it. He was kissing Sherlock Holmes. He brushed his lips against Sherlock’s who had them tightly pursed, eyes still closed. Gently nudging the seam of his mouth with his tongue, he captured the top lip and waited for Sherlock to take the hint. All this time, Sherlock’s hands ran on his back, like they didn’t know what the proper protocol for hand placement during kissing was. John guided them to his face and deepened the kiss as a very nervous mouth opened to let him in. Now, Sherlock responded, with moans so vulnerable and open that John’s heart ached as he explored that beautiful mouth, slowly and decadently. He was enjoying Sherlock’s impatience as he took his hand and placed it on his very wet front, wordlessly asking him to do something, anything.

He squeezed the head through the fabric and Sherlock almost broke John’s jaw at the start he gave. Glacially, John moved forward, exploring nicotine, tea, secrets, bit by bit. Clockwise and then anticlockwise, when he drew back, he realised that Sherlock had come, ever so quietly and ever so soon.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sherlock looked so lost and breathless that John couldn’t stop himself from kissing him on the forehead once and then showering his face with kisses, muttering soothing nonsense and telling him how well he did. He whispered words in his ears, nibbling on the lobe like Sherlock had done some time ago. Soon, Sherlock calmed down and wanted to try it again, leading the kiss this time.

It was a tad erratic, punctuated by the time when their teeth collided. In the beginning, there was too much tongue and when John pointed this out amidst genuine moans (because who doesn’t like too much tongue, not John Watson), there was too little tongue. Then they both went the same way and bumped their noses which sent John on a laugh riot, quietened only when Sherlock pushed his hands in his pants and squeezed his arse to pull him closer, only to start again aggressively.

They worked it out, though, because Sherlock wouldn’t stop until he had made John’s jaws ache from kissing and laughing too much. And somewhere during the night, they fell asleep amidst the duvet tangled about their ankles. John discovered that Sherlock is a cuddle octopus and he also likes being the little spoon. Sherlock found out that John could make him come without touching him, just from a kiss.

At some point, Sherlock started feeling chilly, the heat wearing off, and in his sleep, gravitated towards the only thing warmer than a hundred blankets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter for the smut, this one got longer than I thought it would but I did promise you some smut, and for that, there is a blowjob ho ho ho

 You know how, when you’re in love, the smallest of things become the loveliest, like your partner soundly asleep, their face more beautiful than you’ve ever seen? _Poppycock_ , John would mutter. Sherlock slept with his face all scrunched up like he was in immense pain, his hands clasped together under his chin and legs bent awkwardly. He slept like an angry cat, all rigid and arched. And John loved it, it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen but it was, because for once, Sherlock didn’t look all faux graceful in his glorious dressing gowns and flamboyant sweeping motions, this was his natural state of awkwardness and there was something breathtakingly sweet about it. Sometimes, John would brush the stray curl off his face and kiss the knot of his eyebrow and the expression would grow angrier. Sometimes though, it cleared out, like mist lifting from a junkyard and Sherlock would give him an absolutely useless factoid instead of wishing him good morning.

So, it had been like this since the last month. Every day. Routine was good. Routine was comfortable. Right? Wrong. Not for everyone, not for everyone.

 

***

 

You know how, when you’re in love, the smallest of things become the loveliest, like your partner soundly asleep, their face more beautiful than you’ve ever seen? Sherlock had always assumed that was poppycock but it wasn’t, really it wasn’t. In the month gone by, there had only been one time when he’d woken up before John and he’d seen John’s eyes fighting off the morning waking call. He looked ten years younger and Sherlock reached out to kiss him on the cheek, making him smile in his sleep. _I love you_ , he wanted to say. Perhaps, another day.

On most days though, John woke up first and Sherlock loved that, he loved waking up to an empty bed where he could roll around in John’s scent and bury his face in the pillow without anyone noticing him. Sometimes, there would be the nightshirt folded neatly on the foot of the bed and he would put it on and stoke the sleep in his eyes for a few more minutes. And the sounds of John doing the dishes from last night as the kettle boiled would fill his mind, he would let the clink-clunk-whoosh of domesticity seep his bones. Sherlock would then trudge down the stairs in just the bed sheet (remembering to return the shirt to its place) and would find a cup of tea waiting for him while John read the paper. The sound of turning pages and the quiet sipping was cathartic.

But routine wasn’t good. Routine was boring. It grew on you like mushrooms on tree roots. Sherlock could do with it on most days but not today, not today.

 

***

 

John saw the headline over and over, the same bunch of words, but didn’t read it. Sherlock with that particular tone of his, all squeaky and disturbing and jumping right into his mind, spoke out in his head. _You know, John, most newspapers use Georgia, at least for their headlines. The tabloids, on the other hand, seem to favour Arial and sans serif fonts. Did you know that?_ And John could see himself shaking his head even though he found the titbit to be interesting. And from there, for the hundredth time that month, his mind wandered off to Sherlock arching in his arms, Sherlock rutting against his leg, Sherlock moaning his name out, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. The headline blurred into a single name.

It was surprising how the month had been all about Sherlock. John must have given him about 50 blowjobs, he was sure. And yet, he hadn’t let Sherlock see him without his pants, there had always been that between them. He would finish Sherlock off and make an excuse, running off to the loo whenever Sherlock’s hands crept down his waistband, and jerk off. He didn’t know why he was doing that, maybe because… _no, it can’t be_.

“John?”  
Think of the devil…  
“Hmm,” John muttered, trying to get back to his paper. His tea was cold and all those filthy thoughts about pulling Sherlock’s hair as he fucked him hard were still floating in his head. _Bugger_. Interesting choice of phrase, brain, thanks.

“Are you going shopping today?” Sherlock continued, taking a huge sip of the hot tea and spluttering.   
“Yeah.”  
“Can you get me 20m of galvanised wire?”  
“No.”  
“I want a mini long nose plier too.”  
“No.”  
“And AA size batteries, a pack of 24…32.”  
“I’ll get you a pack of 4.”  
“Horse grooming kit.”  
“No.”  
And I also need to know your penis size.”  
“No.”  
“Exact dimensions would be great.”  
“No.”  
“The length, girth, tapering etc.”

It was John’s patience that made him put the paper down at a glacial pace and turn around to look at Sherlock, eyebrows raised. In a quick movement, Sherlock had let go of his sheet and had moved towards him in three long steps, straddling him.

“This won’t work on me, I’m not an alpha. I can’t turn it on and off like that,” John tried to sound less frustrated or at least stay true to his word but when Sherlock leaned down, body still warm from sleep and lips chapped, John could do nothing but to angle his head to kiss Sherlock. Morning rituals and all that, these things were non-negotiable.

“Well, you’re as close to one as I’m ever getting, so you better play the part.” Sherlock was always happy in the morning. John never thought there’d come a day when he would say this but Sherlock was a morning person. He would drink tea and he would stop John from reading the paper, and he would munch on biscuits and drop crumbs on his immaculately dressed self. He was fun Sherlock in the morning.

“So, what is going on?” Sherlock asked, breaking the kiss, eyes crinkling at the corners and that clever smile on his lips that sometimes drove John up the wall. Now was one of those times. Needless to say, John wasn’t a morning person.

“Nothing, get off, I need to go shopping.”  
“Will I get the things I asked for?” John sighed, knowing that the only way to get this beautiful man off his lap was to agree to his demands.   
  
“Yes. Okay, yes, I’ll get the batteries and the plier.”  
“And the other thing?”  
“Yes, the wire and the sheep grooming kit too. Now let me go,” he gave Sherlock a quick peck but was pinned to the chair again.  


“Not those things! The other thing – the dimensions of your penis. And it’s a horse grooming kit, by the way. I need it for-”  
“I don’t care what you need it for. And I’m not giving you the dimensions of my penis.” He was beginning to get a throbbing pain in his head now.   
“Why?”  
“Because of…reasons.”

When John made to lift Sherlock up from his arse, Sherlock finally said it.  
“I’m making a gift for you. It’s a surprise for-” and boy, had John not seen Sherlock blush for himself he would never have believed that the man was capable of it, “-for next month. When I get my heat, my first real heat with you. I have made something exactly similar for myself and I don’t know if it works, but we can only find that out by the end of the month. As per my calculations and your last cycle, you would be later-”John kissed him, he kissed him deep and slow, and his fingers dug into that perfect arse as he pulled Sherlock even closer, chests touching and Sherlock’s legs bent at an awkward angle that was impossible for anyone else to sustain, Sherlock wrapping his hands around his face effortlessly, _Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock_. God, how he wanted to fuck him right now, sitting on his lap and moaning in his mouth like that.

“I really must leave now, or we’ll make a mess here,” John reasoned, wishing his erection didn’t give him away.  
“You mean _I_ will make a mess.” John looked up, confused.

“I just wanted to do something for you. You don’t let me. Ever,” Sherlock whispered, leaning their foreheads together, slightly breathless from the bone melting kiss. He still kissed like he was drowning in John and he always would, even after an age spent kissing. “Just tell me what it is. It’s something I’m doing or not doing, right?” He sounded so un-Sherlock that it broke John’s heart.

“Hey, it’s nothing about you.” John gave a small peck on the corner of his mouth, but Sherlock was still frowning. “It’s just… I wanted the first time we do it to be special. I don’t want you to-” oh screw it, he didn’t want Sherlock thinking there was something wrong with him. “I don’t want you to get bored of this,” he waved his hand in the space between the two of them, the tiny _tiny_ space because Sherlock was still holding on to him and was breathing in the words John uttered with absolute quiet, “-get bored of us, too soon.” There, he had said it. He waited for Sherlock to laugh at him. But Sherlock simply smiled, nodding.

However, John also knew that Sherlock was anything but predictable; he had learnt that long ago. He could feel those mysterious eyes twinkling with barely suppressed glee even before Sherlock had said the words.

“I understand why that would bother you, but believe me, John, we are anything but boring. And I have grand plans for our first time together.”  
“Why is that statement filling me up with dread?” John muttered but Sherlock just laughed, the genuine laugh he only reserved for a few people.

“Now, for the thing to be spectacular, I really need-” Sherlock rotated his hips in a maddening way that made John throw his head back, “-the dimensions of your penis and for that I-” he held on to John’s shoulders, his cock already dripping, “-simply must take you in-” John’s head was brimming with lewd ideas that Sherlock was whispering in his ear now and just to distract himself, he started worrying the constellation of freckles on Sherlock’s neck with his teeth. “-and have you fuck my mouth,” Sherlock finished, voice slightly cracking at the end.

“Yes. Oh God, yes!” It had been too long, far too long, boring be damned. The moment he said it, Sherlock kissed him hard, all biting teeth and aching groans saying that he had waited as long as John for this. He slid out of his lap and pushed the table back with his arse, the cup toppling over and spilling its contents on the carpet but none of them cared about that at the moment.

Meeting John’s eyes, Sherlock spread his legs apart and undid the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down with his teeth. John lifted his hips just a bit to make it easier for Sherlock to pull them down.

“You know what you’re doing, right?”  
“Yes, three hours on Google.”

John didn’t want to think about the things Sherlock had googled, he was content at watching his face to quell his impatience. For a second, Sherlock just stared at the wet patch on the pants – red - and the next moment, he had buried his face there, inhaling noisily. It was so primal and Sherlock sounded so needy as he latched on to the head of John’s cock through the fabric and sucked on, ignoring the frustrated growls, that John wanted to turn him around and fuck him against the arm of the couch, no lube, nothing.

“No teasing, Sherlock! Just do- get the bloody dimensions,” was all he could manage.

With a last gleeful smile, Sherlock let his cock spring free.

“Promise me you’ll stop worrying about us being boring,” he whispered as spread him wider and put his knees over his shoulders, kissing his balls and not doing anything until John grunted his response. Then, he took his balls in his mouth and rolled them around experimentally, sucking and occasionally grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth and looking up sharply at John’s reactions. Cataloguing, measuring, and God know what but whatever he was doing, he was doing it right.

When John moaned out at a particular roll and obscene slurp, thrusting in the air, Sherlock pushed him back and licked the underside of his balls, taking a break only to mutter, “we can never be too little for each other, in fact, we are too much.” And with one last lick from the bottom of John’s cock to his head, he let his legs fall on either side of him and took his entire length in one go. His tongue was going mad around the flesh, licking broad swipe, pinning to the roof, exploring, exploring, exploring. John was content at letting Sherlock do his thing, he wasn’t sure his heart would be able to take the same thing again in a couple of minutes if Sherlock didn’t get his “dimensions” right. This was as far as the man was going at being romantic, anyway.

Sherlock let John’s cock sit in his mouth for a while, mainly to tease John but also for filing away the things he was learning in his mind palace. It wasn’t huge, it was an omega’s cock but it was as sensitive as any other, and when Sherlock took the first dip of his tongue in the slit, the taste washing over him, John convulsed and moaned out obscenities. He then remembered something about sucking an bobbing, the angle wasn’t good but he was obviously doing something right because John was murmuring praises quietly.

Somewhere during the bobbing and the sucking, and the maddening tongue pressing flat against the vein, Sherlock’s pace started faltering and then, John’s fingers found themselves knotting in his hair. He tugged at them gently as warning and Sherlock groaned, the sound vibrating off the head which wasn’t even anywhere near his throat, and his mouth closed around John’s cock, cheeks hollowing. John knew that if he dared to look at Sherlock now, all debauched, he wouldn’t last a second and so, with a guttural moan, he started fucking his mouth in earnest.

Sherlock was quite enjoying it, from the sounds he was making and the way his fingers were digging in John’s waist. Soon, too soon, John felt something pool low in his belly. Stopping was out of question at that moment, but he did tug hard once or maybe he called out Sherlock’s name, but Sherlock blinked staring up at him and looking absolutely fuckable with his mouth stuffed with John, chest heaving, and John was spilling down his throat with that image seared in his brain forever, his grip on Sherlock’s hair painfully pleasurable. Sherlock didn’t even realise when he came from the way John shouted out his name a hundred times as he came, like he was drowning in and from Sherlock.

They didn’t move even after John had softened in Sherlock’s mouth. When John had regained his sanity back, he quietly petted his hair, wanting him to come up.

“Let me kiss you and then we’ll take care of you,” he muttered when Sherlock was back on his lap, eyes still closed blissfully.   
“Uhm, no, I’m done,” Sherlock whispered, slight shame in his voice, that John kissed away, feeling positively filthy as he tasted himself there.

“I love what I do to you,” he said when Sherlock had been thoroughly snogged and laughed aloud when Sherlock scoffed at him.

Of course, Sherlock would have the last laugh later. John didn’t know that then, neither did Sherlock. Currently, he was content and cleaning the mess they had made and taking care of the grocery. 


	4. Chapter 4

“John! Oh God, I’m s-so close, _Johhhn_.”

This was the good morning call that woke John up that day. Normal people would have been mostly alarmed and slightly turned on at it. John, on the other hand, was frozen on his bed, suddenly overcome by a pressure pooling low inside him. He had his back turned towards the figure from whom the sounds -the explicit and utterly filthy sounds, his name mixed with shuddering expletives - were emanating. Sherlock was close, _very close_ , and John could do nothing but wait for him to come. He also needed to pee.

The sounds turned more desperate and he heard a hand reaching out to fetch the lube whose permanent position had become the top of the side table, mocking him in broad daylight. He heard Sherlock’s fervent fingers coating themselves with lube and getting pushed inside him, followed by his name elongated to three broken syllables. He could smell him. He could feel the heat from Sherlock’s body even though there was a blanket between them, needy and wanting, but unable to feel satisfied by his own fingers. Two went in, followed by another one and the bed shook under John, Sherlock rocking on his own fingers and moaning out his name. John carefully pulled the covers close to him and shut his eyes but his bulging pyjama front - he wouldn’t dare tilt his head to even inspect it - was trying to get his attention.

Sherlock’s hand was working overtime on his cock. John could practically see it, even with his eyes closed tight. Beautiful, slightly longer than an average omega cock, the head pulsing red until Sherlock would come, like he did after a few seconds, and it would spurt out obscenely, usually in John’s mouth. And John would keep sucking, almost nursing on it, till Sherlock was mad with pleasure. He loved the overstimulation, he loved John’s mouth on him when he was so sensitive from coming, and his heels would dig in John’s rib as John licked him clean and let him go with an obscene little pop.

Right now, Sherlock made a strangled noise after he came, splattering everywhere, and turned around in the next moment, marching out of the room, naked and huffy.

John heaved a sigh of relief and after a second or two, crept into the bathroom to take care of himself under the shower, unable to get the shuddering sound out of his mind.

It had been like this for the past two days, ever since they had their first fight. _The_ _fight._ It seemed like _that_ had happened ages ago, another life really. Actually, 5 more episodes like this. The exact day? Sherlock’s heat was almost upon them. __  
  


***

  
Sherlock was working on his magic present, his toy of glory, his magnum opus. It had begun sometime around that, he would be excessively clingy one second and pushing John away the next. John tried his best to imagine what Sherlock was going through and for the most part of it, succeeded too. He had got into the habit of bringing Sherlock tea and leaving it outside his room because these were the times when John was forbidden to enter it, surprise present and all. Truth be told, he was beginning to get a bit worried about Sherlock. This was the time when omegas let their body rest and relaxed, letting their alphas take care of them. There was a lack of an alpha, in this case, but John was doing the best he could.

In the past day, he hadn’t even seen Sherlock, just groans coming out of his room, alternating between frustrated and happy. He knocked once and left the tea, going back to his paper but unable to concentrate. He knew he was no alpha but he felt the need to be closer to Sherlock, maybe to put him to sleep and tell him to rest a bit. But he also knew it better than anyone that Sherlock Holmes didn’t listen to anyone.

Sometime during the evening, between his seventh cup and Sherlock’s hundredth groan at the _thing_ , John found himself sound asleep on the chair, stretched at an awkward angle with his legs hanging on the arms of it and head lolling painfully. He had forgotten how tired he was himself, running after Sherlock and worrying himself to death. Sadly, his siesta, if one can call it that, was disturbed when a heavy something slumped on him. John felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs, he couldn’t breathe. Gasping and wheezing, he woke up, hand reaching for the gun in his trouser pocket before he felt lips on his own, chapped and cold, urgent and wanting.

“John?” Sherlock muttered, sitting quite comfortably on his lap, and now kissing along his jaw sloppily because of the awkward angle. John tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, fingers feeling home in those curly locks as he tilted the head up to kiss Sherlock properly. God, it had been so long since he had kissed this mad man. Running his hands down the sides, John maneuvered them both so that Sherlock was sitting astride his hips and moaning in his mouth.

“It’s done,” he said, slightly breathless with his lips kiss-swollen.   
“Hmm, good. Can I see it now?” John muttered into the corner of his mouth, kissing it for good measure.   
“Better, you can use it!” Sherlock grinned, a grin that reached his eyes and amalgamated into his furrowed brow when John didn’t return in.

“No, no, _no, no_.”  
“Why not? I’m really close to my heat, I need it- you. I need you. Please, John.”

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because, I don’t want to hurt you. We’ll have our time, it’s just a couple of days, yeah? Let’s wait.” When Sherlock huffed angrily, John reasoned with him. He pleaded. He offered to give him a massage, and was turned down with a grunt. Finally, after what seemed like years of arguing, Sherlock got off his lap and John tried very hard to _not_ notice the way he was only wearing a sheet and how it slid gracefully off his shoulder, revealing his delectable clavicle.

“You are not an alpha, you can’t hurt me. Just a little, come on. Please?” Sherlock whined, kneeling between his knees to rub his face on John’s chest like a cat, and hugging him.   
“Not with the magic toy, that’s for sure,” John replied, failing to resist hugging him close. He understood the impatience, he had felt it himself before his own heat. And with Sherlock being on suppressants for so long, he could completely get how he felt. His skin itched with memories of his own few days before the heat, wanting someone to fuck him into oblivion. But he had been with far too many unconscientious alphas to know how sore he had been, how broken, after that itch was scratched.

“Oh come on!!” Sherlock groaned again. “Just a bit, I promise I’ll behave. You set the rules, just wear the strap on and fuck me, just for a while. _Pleaaase, John_ ,” Sherlock’s fingers dug into John’s jumper, wanting and demanding.

“Hey, hey, come here. _Shh_ ,” John pulled him closer, kissing his forehead, then his eyes. He licked down his jaw, pulling Sherlock up to make him sit on the chair and reversing their positions, with him between Sherlock’s legs now. He nibbled on his ear lobe and Sherlock threw his head back as John rolled his balls in his hand, giving them a slight tug, the way that he knew Sherlock loved.

There, with Sherlock’s legs draped over his shoulder, he sucked him off till Sherlock was groaning for more. And even after that, Sherlock’s eyes still looked as lost and deranged.

“What?” John asked, wiping his mouth for the third time.   
“Nothing, fuck me with the strap on I’ve made for you, please. Do it,” Sherlock cupped his face, he sounded tired.

“Can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to hurt you. No, Sherlock you have no idea how painful it is, I could really _truly_ hurt you. And knowing us, I know I won’t be able to stop if we start. I can’t take that risk, not with you.”

Finally, Sherlock got up with wobbly legs and slapped John’s hand away when he tried to help.  
“So, you’re saying that you won’t touch me until my heat is truly upon us? Is that what you’re saying?” He muttered.  
“No, no, I didn’t say that-” But Sherlock cut him off.

“Fine then, I’ll take care of it myself.”

And that was it. The next hours and days had been all about Sherlock masturbating every place he could find in 221B, usually around John because he was trying to break his spirit.

John couldn’t believe his luck. He had hoped that these last days would be beautiful. Just him taking care of Sherlock, bringing him things to eat before his body started emptying itself hours before the heat began. And here he was, jerking off in the shower while Sherlock thought of new ways to get off.

 

***

 

John crept into the supermarket, seconds after Sherlock disappeared behind the dry fruits section. He had declared to the room - since he wasn’t talking to John - that he would shop for his heat himself. John, knowing that Sherlock had been spending more time in the loo than his bedroom, knew that he was hours away from his heat. For further proof, he had found Sherlock’s laundry basket full of all his pants, fluid smeared from front to back. And so, he had followed Sherlock to the supermarket.

As expected, Sherlock was getting quite a lot of attention from the alphas who were most probably shopping for their own omegas. That time of the month for everyone. One alpha kept shooting Sherlock sideways glances as he reached up to grab some cheese spread, sniffing it before putting it in his basket. There would have been something terribly endearing about watching Sherlock get the milk had the alpha not followed Sherlock to the end of the aisle. He looked a bit jumpy still, one never knew what kind of omega you could encounter.

“I’m spoken for, so I’d advise you to back out,” Sherlock muttered moodily, not even turning around to face the stranger as he bundled three more items. The alpha held his ground still when he reached out to grab Sherlock by the elbow, John’s voice was whispering quietly in his ear, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mate. He said he’s spoken for, yeah.”

The alpha froze and so did Sherlock. His mind must really be somewhere else if he hadn’t noticed John following him. When the alpha turned around, looking aggressively at John and wanting to say something, John cut him off, “I am not above breaking your jaw to make my point clearer”.

Sherlock looked visibly shaken but he was obviously hiding it well. He went on putting items in his basket one after the other, but his hands were shaking badly. He almost let the jam jar slip from his sweaty fingers and smash on the ground before John caught it on time.

“I- thank you,” was all he could manage before John was slowly taking the various bottles out of his hands and pulling him closer.   
  
“Never do that to me again. We’re going home,” John’s tone made it clear that he was in no mood to hear any arguments and Sherlock nodded. They paid for their stuff and hailed a cab where John sulked in the corner with Sherlock’s head nestled under his chin, petting it lightly and complaining about how irresponsible Sherlock was and how it was a miracle that John managed to put up with him. Sherlock drank it all in, it was nice to be back here. He would never admit it but for a second there in the aisle, he had felt alone and scared but now, with John’s complains washing over him, he felt protected, cared for.

Five minutes away from 221B, Sherlock’s heat began. Five minutes away from 221B, Sherlock’s head settled on John’s lap. Five minutes away from 221B, John murmured nonsense in his ear, trying to soothe him.

Just outside their door, things became frantic. Bites, groans, teeth and tongues.   
The usual.

 

***

 

They tumbled inside the flat which felt warmer than it ever had. As Sherlock undressed them both in the blink of an eye, John pinned him against the door, his hands above him and his trousers hanging around his ankles. He wasn’t wearing any pants. John bit his lower lip at the sight in front on him, Sherlock’s chest heaving and throat exposed, his head turned to a side in an achingly primal way. As John inched closer to him, toeing off his shoes and trousers, standing just in his pants, Sherlock turned his head to inhale loudly. His pupils blew wide as he faced John, confusion and want written all over his face. John answered his query with a grin.

“Best alpha scented EDP, imported from a black market in India,” he muttered, peppering small bites along Sherlock’s throat and deciding to suck on his Adam’s apple noisily as Sherlock breathed loudly, trying to take it all in. He let Sherlock’s arms fall to his sides as he worried the skin at the side of his neck experimentally and Sherlock turned his head, exposing more of it. His groan made it clear that he was enjoying this. Kissing down his chest, John lapped at his nipples. The left one was more sensitive, he went to it last, not until Sherlock was begging him to stop the teasing.

“Patience!” John uttered, voice completely in control and Sherlock froze. His cock twitched appreciatively and John definitely got the hint. He smiled coldly at Sherlock, not a smile he was known for, and continued lavishing all his attention on the left nipple until Sherlock was convulsing and later, practically sobbing for more.

“So beautiful like this,” John whispered as he went down on his knee and saw Sherlock’s cock, proudly jutting out and leaking freely. The moment he licked a stripe from under his balls to the tip of his cock, Sherlock’s fingers dug in his shoulders and John took him in, head bobbing not even twice before Sherlock was coming in his mouth. It softened for a second before John popped it out and looked up at Sherlock, meeting his gaze, and there, right in front of him, Sherlock started getting hard again.

“I- I am-” Sherlock looked embarrassed and so, John went up and kissed him, letting him taste himself.  
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s what I’m here for, yeah? It’s normal. Turn around, love.” And Sherlock did, still blushing furiously.

After peppering kisses along the back of his neck and down his spine, John dug his teeth into that delectable arse. Sherlock was leaking copiously, he was ready. Now, this was a bit John wasn’t familiar with but he remembered what felt good, so he soldiered on.

Lapping at the fluid coating Sherlock’s thighs and feeling proud about the sounds of “yes, yes, more!” that Sherlock let out, John spread him apart and took a second to marvel at the sight in front of him before he found himself taking the first taste, running his tongue over the ring of muscles, using barely any teeth on the sensitive skin there, while Sherlock sounded lost with pleasure and anticipation. He darted his tongue out and licked over the ring, blowing over it with his breath and Sherlock almost collapsed on the floor but John was holding on to him. Squeezing his arse as warning, John plunged in with his tongue, wriggling it and tasting Sherlock. All the groans of pleasure made it worth it and Sherlock was pushing back, wanting more. So, John gave it to him, he fucked him with his tongue tirelessly till Sherlock was coming for the second time without John having even touched him, just from the sheer pleasure of it.

Even after he had come, John didn’t stop. He quickly got up pushed one finger inside him, forehead resting on Sherlock’s shoulder as he muttered words of comfort, filthy words that made Sherlock move his hips to fuck himself and plead for more. When the second finger went in, John’s other hand reached between Sherlock’s legs to help. He gave a couple of tugs and Sherlock convulsed again, practically chanting John’s name as he came. He sounded tired and it hadn’t even been an hour but his body wanted more, so John bended him over the very arm of the chair _the fight_ had started and fucked him as hard as he could.

“You feel that. That’s just me, no toy between us. Not for the first time.” Sherlock could simply groan in response as John tugged at his hair and felt Sherlock’s insides clench, trying to hold onto him.

“Mine,” John whispered, slumping on top of him as his cock quietly slipped out.  
“Yours, always yours,” Sherlock turned his head to smile stupidly at him, satiated, at least for now, and kissed John.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” John picked Sherlock up, even after Sherlock’s half-hearted protests, and gently placed him over the bed. It was John’s room and Sherlock instantly rolled over to bury his head in John’s pillow, breathing in his natural scent and sighing. When the bed gently dipped as John joined him, Sherlock turned around and draped his leg over John, head resting comfortably on his good shoulder.

“That was wonderful,” he whispered, already sounding half asleep.   
“Hmm, sleep now,” was all John could manage but Sherlock was already starting to rut against his leg, biting his lip.   
“I need- _something_. You. Inside me.” He muttered, taking John’s wrist and guiding it between his cheeks. The way his face reddened as he did this made John’s heart flutter.

“Give me a second, just a second. Wait here,” saying which John quickly jumped out of the bed, kneeling to get a box out from under it. Whatever he found was hidden from Sherlock’s view whose eyes were closed as he bit the pillow on which John was used to sleeping. John did a quick detour to the bathroom and Sherlock couldn’t help rut against the bed and groan as it failed to make any difference.

Suddenly, the bed was dipping and John gently squeezed his shoulder before moving his knee up so that he could gain better access. Slowly, he started pushing something wet and rubbery inside Sherlock and Sherlock immediately felt the difference. It wasn’t John, it was something silicone, something pliable. John reached between his legs to cup his permanently hard cock, giving it a few tugs as he pushed the toy deeper. Sherlock felt like it would never end but he didn’t want it to, he could feel John’s breathing growing louder as the toy went in, inch by inch, and kisses peppered Sherlock’s shoulder before it hit the spot and his cock spurted thrice. His insides clamped up on the head of the dildo and Sherlock thought he would implode from the sheer pain of it.

“John!” He gasped and John was there, finally appearing in front of him to pull him closer. He kissed his hairline as the pain disappeared into pleasure, slowly and quietly the burning subsided and Sherlock felt full. Full and satisfied with John kissing his forehead and running his callused hands soothingly down his back, Sherlock didn’t even know when he quietly fell asleep.

As John was telling him how much he loved him, he heard a light snore from the pliant body in his arms, clinging on to John like he would disappear if he let go. John gently run his thumb over those cheekbones and the knotted brow, Sherlock did indeed look younger when he was asleep and glowing with post coital bliss. Covering his hand with his own and kissing him chastely, John closed his eyes as well.

 

***

 

When he woke up, the darkness had spread around them like smoke. Tangible darkness that muffled any sounds made by John as he got out of bed and checked the time. It was 3 am and Sherlock, in his sleep, had rolled half on top of him, his leg holding John in place. Carefully and very quietly, he slid out of the bed from under Sherlock and checked on the dildo jutting out of his arse. It was barely in and Sherlock was leaking around it. John slowly tugged at it and it came out without any fight. Sherlock merely shifted in his sleep and John placed a pillow between his legs before going out of the room.

Something clicked in his brain then. Maybe it was the fact that they had left on the lights of the living room and John was temporarily blinded as he left the bedroom or perhaps, it was something else. Whatever it was, John got himself a glass of water and made a detour to Sherlock’s room. It was exactly as he remembered it, only messier. There were papers, wires, diagrams and tools strews across on his bed. On a brown paper, however, was a pair of pants.

John approached the red looking thing with apprehension, it looked innocent enough though. As he picked it up, something swung from the front of it. It was a strap on, a peculiar one with a hollow space where John could put his cock in. _Almost as if…_ John tried it on and wasn’t the least bit surprised when it fit him perfectly. It was transparent and when John stood in front of the mirror, it looked quite alright. Tasteful, actually.

Had Sherlock actually tried the modified dildo on him before he fit it in? The very thought made John heat up even though it hadn’t been even 6 hours ago that he was fucking Sherlock on the arm of the chair, tugging at his hair as he asked for more and more of John, harder, faster. His shuddered pleas rang in John’s head and he had to walk out of the room to stop himself from getting hard again.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up with something dry and sticky clinging between his legs, and the blasted sunlight on his face.   
  
“Argh, John?” he called out but he couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t remember the last time he had been this thirsty and hadn’t cared about it. All he knew was that he felt extremely empty and needed a fix. He called for John again and his voice cracked. Wrapping the sheet around himself, he leapt out of the room, suddenly feeling exposed. His naked feet thudded on the floor as he checked his own room and then heard someone cooking and singing. Bounding out of his room and almost tripping on himself, he found John.

John. Wearing red pants. _His red pants_ , a part of his brain supplied. And he was pouring some tea in cups.

“John?” Sherlock didn’t trust his voice at that moment, feeling something stir inside him at the sight of John in those pants, and John turned around, stopping his singing mid note and looking confused.  
  
“You’re up! Oh God, I never- I thought I’d bring you something to eat. Get back to bed. Hey… what is it?” He stopped fussing and walked over to Sherlock, who immediately melted into the hug, rubbing his face in John’s hair.   
  
“Got scared,” he mumbled, as John cupped his face and kissed him, poking his thigh with the dildo and making Sherlock splutter.   
“I’m sorry, I didn’t plan for you to wake up alone,” John kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip and feeling Sherlock arch in his arms.

“Go to bed, I’ll be there in a while,” he muttered, coming up to breathe and kissing him chastely. He just couldn’t feel content without Sherlock being close to him. And even when he asked Sherlock to go to the room, his hands refused to let him go. Sherlock smirked pointedly at him and sat on the chair, pulling his sheet around him.

He drank up two mugs of tea and played around with some sandwiches before John noticed him. Shrugging, he shook his head. Even on normal days, Sherlock was averse to eating food and keeping up his strength but now, at least he had a good reason.

“It’s alright,” John smiled at him, taking the triangle from his hand and putting it back on the pile. “Is there something you want?” Sherlock gulped, fumbling with his words and making John laugh. A fresh wave of fluid washed between his thighs as he looked down and John pulled him up, kissing him hard as they stumbled back onto the bed.

Asking Sherlock to lay face down on the bed, John climbed beside him and whispered, “Anything I need to know about your magic strap on before we begin.” He rubbed his length along the crack of Sherlock’s arse and Sherlock groaned, pushing back.

“Now, do it now! Don’t tease!” He grunted, and John did exactly that.   
“Put your knee up, yes, just a bit more. Perfect.” John knew that this time, there would be no stopping, there would be hours of staying in the same position and no respite from the heat and he wanted to make sure they were as comfortable as possible. He experimentally breached Sherlock’s entrance, getting lost in the exquisite sound Sherlock made. As he tried to push back, John held on to his waist, sinking inch by inside him till he was completely engulfed in Sherlock, his front to Sherlock’s back, his fingers digging in Sherlock’s waist, his lips whispering filthy things in Sherlock’s ear.

He fucked him slowly at first and Sherlock was incredibly patient, if “just do it!” could be called that. When John had got a feel of the thing and was beginning to think of it as a sort of phantom limb, he caught Sherlock unawares by ramming into him hard and Sherlock’s complains were caught in his mouth. Sherlock exposed his throat again as John started establishing a rhythm. His mind went blank for a second and he started worrying the alabaster skin with his teeth, the previous marks having faded, as he fucked Sherlock tirelessly. As Sherlock came once, twice, thrice, John was still inching towards his own orgasm.

Something happened then and John felt like Sherlock was holding his breath for it. As John started getting closer and Sherlock’s insides clamped up on the head of the dildo, _something_ started moving in front of John’s cock. It was cool at first and warming later, almost like small liquid crystals. They bunched up around the head of John’s cock and started applying pressure there, rotating and heightening his pleasure as he cried out and was almost milked out of his orgasm. It wasn’t common for omegas to come repeatedly unless they were in heat but John did, he came and he came, and he screamed out in pleasure, not knowing what he said, unable to move in Sherlock as the silicone knot expanded and John came for the fourth time, biting down on Sherlock’s exposed throat and making his partner come with him.

Even when he was done and the balls stopped rolling, the knot didn’t go down.

“Next time we do this, I want to see your face,” Sherlock muttered, sounding satiated for the first time in days as the slight ache in his insides made him squirm a little.

“That was wonderful, God,” John could feel the knot going down now, second by second, as Sherlock’s eyes fluttered close and John wrapped his arms around him.

“I like your natural scent. It makes me feel… safe.” The rest of the conversation was never finished before Sherlock’s quiet snores quickly filled the room and the air between them.

John couldn’t pull out of him by the next hour but by that time, they had both fallen asleep with John’s nose in Sherlock’s hair and a smile on his face.

 

***

 

The next few days were spent between snatching hours and sometimes minutes of sleep and one shower which ended with John lifting Sherlock up and fucking him against the tiled wall under the warm streams of water that scalded them gratefully. When they came out to dry up and John put the strap on back again, Sherlock climbed on his lap and John lapped at his nipples, marvelling at the sounds Sherlock made as he fucked him at a slow and measured pace. The time for furious fucking was past, this was the phase where the bond was strengthened between the two. As they rocked in each other’s arms, only stopping to breathe between frantic kisses and John pushed up inside Sherlock who splattered his stomach as he came, John whispered promises and nonsense in his mouth, nibbling on his lip. He slowly lifted Sherlock, still unable to pull out of him and placed him on the bed, on his side, with his legs draped over John’s waist and their lips kiss swollen.

 

***

 

One morning, which seemed after an eternity, they woke up and Sherlock could immediately feel the difference. For once, he felt like he was suffocating under John’s weight whose legs had pulled him closer to himself. As Sherlock sniffed the air that smelled revoltingly of sex, John woke up too and looked up at him inquiringly.

“I think it’s over, John.” John was surprised to hear a hint of regret in his voice as he smiled and kissed him on the forehead.   
“Always a next time, couple of months from now,” he muttered back, finally starting to notice the changes as well.

As they took a shower together, snatches of their lovemaking came back to them, and Sherlock ran his finger over the permanent bonding mark on his neck. John came up from behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. No words were needed and they were able to share a comfortable silence that they had been sharing since the day they met.

“Not a couple of months, actually, a week or so,” Sherlock whispered, drying off his hair and rubbing a few drops of Moroccan oil between his hands, as he ran his fingers through his damp curls.  
“What do you mean?” John asked, sniffing the bottle and making a face.   
“Uhm, _your_ heat, John.”

John merely smiled, he had forgotten all about his own heat. As Sherlock went on and on about his grand plans, John realised how happy he felt. This was good, it was a bit difficult but it was good. And John was looking forward to it, they both were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and sticking with the story. I love you all and I'm so glad you found time to leave kudos and wonderful reviews.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Feel free to nitpick and leave comments.
> 
> \- Meow


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